


Everyday Is JeanMarco Day When They're Your OTP

by WatsWitDaMonkey



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Coffee, Depression, Donuts, Dorks, Fluff, Heavy Angst, High School AU, JeanMarco Week, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide Attempt, Takes forever to update, What am I doing, Winter, gays, jeanmarco, some is angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatsWitDaMonkey/pseuds/WatsWitDaMonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically I've taken on a challenge to write a little bit of JeanMarco fanfiction everyday. I'm getting some prompts and then basically going off on tangents with those prompts. I have a high school au, some snow-village aus, and some other cute aus. I tend to write a lot when I do write so there's long chapters more often than not. I won't update everyday, but I try.<br/>Well written fanfic ensues, babes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I'm DaMonkey, I've come to fuck shit up

 

Savior  
It wasn't like it was a conscious decision to do it. I didn't really have a clear thought in my head when I left my house in the thunderstorm that day – there was no point when I thought to myself, "Wow, kill yourself." It wasn't like that.

What it was, was an overwhelming depression that had been with me since the first time that my dad hit me. What it was, was a sense of hopelessness after the third arrest. What it was, was every ounce of fight left in me being taken away by my only friends leaving me for college. It was just me, Jean Kirschstein, giving up.

That night, my mom had been drunk beyond recognition. I think that my dad must have been high on something, cocaine most likely. And because he knew that he couldn't do much to hurt her in the state she was in, he came up to my room and dragged me out. He said some things that night that I would rather not repeat and I essentially told him to fuck himself which got me pushed down the stairs. He met me at the bottom and proceeded to slam his fist into any part of my body he could reach until he finally got bored with me. He left me there on the bottom step, a bloody mess, and wandered off into the living room. I stood up after a little while and just left the house. I didn't put on any shoes or a coat, I just left the house wearing my plaid pajama pants and my long sleeve Jesus and the Mary Chain shirt.

It was storming and as soon as I stepped outside, I was soaked to the bones. There was no destination in my mind, just a dull buzz that told me to keep walking. I berated myself on that walk – I thought about how useless I was that I couldn't stop the beatings, I couldn’t stop him from hurting my mom, I couldn’t stop my grades from falling, I couldn't stop my friends from leaving, I couldn't stop getting into trouble with the law, and I couldn't stop walking.

I came to a bridge on my walk; it was a fairly small bridge, but the drop to the water was a long one. I walked to the middle of the bridge before I stopped and sat down, my arms resting on the fat bars above me and my bare feet dangling below me. I stared at the black, rushing water beneath me and hummed to myself as the rain pounded on my body and on everything around me. I remember standing up at some point, pulling myself up onto the safety bars,  and swaying back and forth on the cool, slippery metal.

That was when the car came; lights shone brightly in the periphery of my right eye. I expected them to pass, but they did not. I turned my head and saw a small, white car, whose door opened to reveal a person. He stepped out and I knew that my chance for release was quickly passing.

But I did not jump. He rushed to me, grabbed my arm and pulled me back into his warmth. The rain was so loud that I could hear that he was trying to speak, but I could not make out what he was saying. I watched him as his long, pink lips tried to form words. I could tell that he had freckles covering his tan, water soaked skin.

He pulled me towards his car, looking like an angel in his white button down. I was pulled towards his car, he walked ahead of me and for a moment the rain stopped and I could barely make out his shape from the glare of the headlights. He was illuminated with the light from his car, I could almost see his fluffy white wings and halo.

But then the rain began again, or perhaps it never stopped – that's just how I remember it. Time stood still.

I was in his car within a few seconds and he was in the seat next to me quickly. We were in the backseat, and I soon found out why. He didn't speak, he just pulled me into his arms and refused to let go. He was warm, despite the cold rain, and I felt better than I ever had in his arms at that moment. I felt whole. Quickly taking to the hug, I clutched his shirt and sobbed. He stroked my back and told me quietly that everything would be okay.

When I stopped shaking and crying, I sat up and he allowed me to, but did not let go of me. I rubbed at my eyes and murmured, "Thank you."

He nodded and ran his fingertips through my short, wet hair, brushing it back, "Shhh. Do you have a home to go to?"

I closed my eyes and whispered, "Don't make me go back there tonight."

He didn't say anything, he just pulled me to him again and stroked my back. "You can come to my apartment, if you want to. Unless you have somewhere else to go?"

"Everyone is gone – Armin left with Eren and Mikasa left with Eren and Bert left with Reiner and Annie and Ymir and Krista and Sasha and Connie and, and, they're all gone, they're all gone."

"Are you comfortable with coming to my place?" I sat up a little bit and looked into his eyes. They were chocolate brown, matching his short hair. He had honest eyes. I trusted him. I still didn't know his name, but I trusted him.

I stared at him, "I don’t know your name yet," I murmured.

"I don’t know yours either," He replied with a small smile. "But, I'm Marco Bodt."

"Jean Kirschstein," I informed him.

He still had yet to release me, but I didn't mind. "Well, now that we've met, why don't we go home and take a hot bath and eat some good food and get some good rest, yeah?" His smile was big, genuine, contagious.

I found myself smiling for the first time in a long time. I felt warm. I felt good. "Thank you," I said again.

Marco slowly released me, "Of course, Mr. Kirschstein."

I shook my head vehemently, "That's my dad. I'm Jean. Just Jean."

His hands were over mine, "Sorry, John."

"No, Jean," I smiled, knowing his mistake before he knew it, "J-e-a-n."

His laugh trickled like water down a stream, "My apologies."

"Don't worry about it – now about that hot bath and good food and good sleep?" I asked sheepishly.

"Coming right up, Jean," He hopped out of the backseat and into the front seat in a few seconds, enough time for me to already miss his warmth.

That night, I slept in my savior's arms.

 


	2. The 2nd Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whaat is st. patrick's day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i figured out how to use notes look guys be proud of me
> 
> I just want well written fanfiction is this too much to ask for  
> apparently it is like guys come on if you can write you owe it to us  
> You owe it to yourself  
> honhonhonim a hypocrite

Holidayz  
"What the fuck is St. Patrick's day even about?" I asked as we drove to a party hosted by one of the college's fraternities.

Marco hummed, "Mmm, the color green, I'd say."

I rolled my eyes and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. "It's an excuse for damned fraternities to throw annoying parties that people end up getting drunk and raped at."

"Erwin is the leader of this fraternity, you know it won't be like that," he was smiling at me from the passenger seat.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply, "I just don't see why we have to go."

"We don’t have to stay for very long, just see what's going on and whatnot. It's rude to turn down a party invitation," he straightened his hair in the visor's mirror.

"Jaeger and company will be there, don't leave my side," I begged.

He laughed, "Wouldn't dream of it," he put a hand on my thigh and rested it there for the remainder of the ride.

We eventually made it to Erwin's frat house. Sure enough, Eren and Co. were already there. Luckily, Jaeger seemed to be occupied with an infamous upperclassman named Levi, leaving Armin and all the other tolerable people free. I looked around with disgust at all the green decorations. There was a football game going on TV. Or maybe it was soccer – I didn't pay enough attention to distinguish.

Marco and I wandered into the kitchen where we found Sasha and Connie having an argument about the finer points of what to put on a baked potato.

"Sasha, be reasonable, bacon bits are a disgrace to nature," Connie tried.

The brunette refused, "Bacon bits are the way to go! Nine out of ten times it isn't even real bacon – that's a disgrace to nature, but man, when you can get real bacon and put it on there that's when you get it right!"

He shook his head, "I still say that cheese, sour cream, butter, and garlic is what you put on a baked potato." Looking up, he saw us, "Oh! Marco, Jean! Look, what do you two put on baked potatoes?"

My partner smiled, "Oh, well, my mom always put yogurt and butter on mine – so that's how I like it."

I shrugged, "Marco's the cook, and a damn fine one at that."

Before anyone could respond, Sasha threw up her hands, screaming, "Come on guys! Bacon bits! It's – it's – it's! It's quintessential baked potato!"

Armin crashed in then, giggling like a madman and holding a beer, "Sasha, Connie you have to come see thi- oh! Hey Jean, Marco."

His speech was slurred and his cheeks were red and he was wearing a green hat with a black brim and golden buckle. There was a four leaf clover sticking out of it. The blond leaned on the counter, but quickly found out that it was a roll around. Marco caught him before he fell and Sasha caught the counter before it crashed into Connie.

I reached out my hands to steady Armin, "You okay there?"

He hiccupped and laughed, "Yeah, whoops. I'm okay."

"How many of these have you had?" Marco asked, worried.

Armin paused, "Like four of _these_." He grinned, "When did you two get here?"

I replied, "Two minutes ago. Already we find a drunk Amin and two bickering asshats."

"Hey-" Connie started.

Very suddenly, another pair of bodies crashed into the kitchen. The room was becoming more and more crowded. Eren and Mikasa were as drunk as Armin, but only one of them was good at hiding it. Levi followed behind the pair of siblings. Eren had an arm around Mikasa, who was obviously struggling to continue standing with all of her and her brother's laughter. Levi stood like a hawk, carefully watching their movements, ready to jump in at any time.

"Armin!" Eren shouted, even though the room was fairly quiet. The music was coming from the living room and outside – the fraternity had an excellent stereo system.

Mikasa shushed him with a giggle, and he said, "Oops, heh, Armin!"

The blond leapt from Marco to join his two friends, the last button that was buttoned on his green button down came undone with the movement. I looked over at Marco and whispered, "What the fuck is this holiday about, again?"

My brunet smiled,  "Kiss me I'm Irish."

"You're like, Mexican and Greek, shut up," I replied with a smile.

He leaned to me, "Kiss you you're Irish," he said before kissing my cheek.

I rolled my eyes, "The only Irish I have in me is Scotts-Irish, totally different."

Placing a finger over my lips, he shushed me, "Kiss you you're Irish."


	3. Chapter the 3rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its really cold outside

Red

_Shit he's cute. No. Stop looking at me. Don't come any closer. Fuck, where's Connie. I know I'm not the only cashier in this damned café. Shit, shit, shit. He's coming right for me. Hide, hide, hide. Shit-_

"One peppermint mocha, to-go please," he stated, his nose and cheeks red from winter's bite.

I begged myself not to stutter or come off as an ass, "What s-size?" _Shit, you dickfaced fuckmuffin, you can't say anything right when you NEED to say things right. As soon as a pretty boy comes up to you, you lose all your composure you wadded up piece of dino poo-_

His smile was bright and warm, I could feel it reach me, touch my own lips with its contagion, and creep down my body. "Medium, please," he requested. His voice was sweeter than honey. Sweeter than the honey that you eat a spoonful of when you have a cold, except, his voice was even better than that. It was the cure to not just the common cold, but to cancer, war, poverty. His voice could bring down mountains, stop earthquakes in their tracks and bring me to my knees.

I typed his order into the computer, gave him a small discount, and shouted his order to Connie who had miraculously appeared too late to save me. To the guy in front of me, I said, "2.50."

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a five dollar bill, then paused looking up at the menu. He looked at me quizzically, "But I ordered a medium?"

"Yes, well, um," _blame the chill from the outside for my cheeks. Please, blame the chill from outside for my cheeks_ , "Today, uh, you're our tenth customer and so there's a discount." I bullshited my way through it like so many times before when taking tests that I hadn't studied for. I hadn't studied for this.

There was the smile again, "Thanks!" He handed me the bill and I gave him his change.

"Um, your name, sir?" I asked, holding a red sharpie an inch from the cup.

"Marco," he replied. I nodded.

Since there was no one behind him in line, I attempted at chit chat, "So, how cold is it out there today?"

He tilted his head, smiling softly, "I figured you would know. I know that _my_ face is red because I just came in from outside. But see, yours is just as red if not worse!" His smile got bigger the more he talked.

_You rotten tomato splatter piece of garbage, control yourself, Jean._ "I, um. The door opens and, brings in the cold, and I just. Get really. Um."

Marco was on the brink of laughter. _Die in a hole, Jean. You just dug yourself a grave. Go die in it. Sooner, rather than later, Jean_. The freckled man in front of me held my eyes. His cheeks had stopped being so red from the cold, but they were turning a different shade of red. Breaking eye contact by looking down at his feet, he pulled up his scarf over his nose. He shyly looked back up to me, "You're cute," his voice was muffled.

"Digee-ah," if I wasn’t red before, I was then.

"Marco!" Connie called from the other side of the coffee station.

Said freckled angel looked over to my bald co-worker, glanced back at me with a hidden smile, and got his coffee. My heart fell from my chest and plopped onto the floor as he seemed to begin to walk away. My brain joined my heart on the floor when he turned around and came back to the register. "Do you have a note pad?" I nodded and handed him a book of sticky notes and the same red sharpie from earlier. He wrote down 10 numbers, and then wrote his name. He pushed the pad back to me and smiled before practically running out of the café.

My body joined my brains and heart on the floor.

"Dude, you okay?" Connie stood over me.

"You know what, Connie? Shut the fuck up and go back to doing whatever it was you were doing. I'm just going to lie here for a minute."

\-----

Once outside, I opened the lid of my coffee cup and saw the whipped cream and the red and green and white sprinkles. I couldn't stop smiling if I had wanted to. While walking, I sipped the whipped cream, along with the sprinkles, into my mouth. It was sweet and it was perfect and I could not wait until he decided to call me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please laugh with me, my humor is subtle and hidden in delightful expletives. I'm just too tired to be really funny all the time. In writing I'm just really tired and in person I'm usually really tired but also really confused but mostly I'm fucking hilarious. I am the hilarious. The one the only oh jfc just read this piece of shit that I posted for your reading pleasure like ugh you ungrateful sons of bitches. At least I'm not misusing the word "faith" to mean "fate" like that was awful to read. I vow to never misuse words that I know the meanings to.


	4. The fourth chapter!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how do i write summaries  
> idk in this one jean goes and is like in a weird situation and he is in love with a statue  
> i suggest curling up with a large mug of hot chocolate and reading this one  
> WARNINGs  
> abuse & homophobia and yeah idk how to do this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is really fucking long  
> oh wELL BLUE HAIR DON'T CARE

Longing – The Boy In The Snow  
When I was little, I went to my grandmother's house for Christmas vacations. She was a wonderful woman who always decorated lavishly with the help of her oldest son who lived with her. I remember that my favorite decoration probably had to be the little Christmas village that she put up by herself. She told me once that the village was magical, and that if you watched the people for long enough, you could see them blinking, breathing, moving. She told me that they could move when you weren't looking. So of course, I tested it. I sat on my knees in front of the mantle and squinted at the people in the village. I was captured with one of the villagers – he looked young and handsome and happy. He had a toothy grin and a dark tan. Freckles splattered across his warm cheeks. He sat in the snow, green and red beanie on his head, covering most of his brown hair. Snow was dribbled across his legs and his gloved hands splayed out behind him.

Grandma's house was a fairy tale cabin. She lived in the woods outside of town, and we often got snowed in when we visited. There was one winter that was particularly harsh – we had to stay at her cabin for two weeks due to snow storms. I remember the penetrating freeze and how it chilled me through four layers. Being a dumb eight year old, I went outside and tried to build a snowman. However, my grandma caught me before I could finish. She pulled me inside and set me down in front of her snow village and gave me a cup of hot chocolate as I shivered my cold away. I watched the boy in the snow, his red cheeks looked warmer than the plastic fire that blared in the café's fireplace. As I stared at his smile, my cheeks reddened with a grin. I fell asleep in front of the mantle with the village that night.

Then one year, my grandmother died. I was ten and she had been 93. Her things were divided amongst children and grandchildren, and I asked my mom if I could have the snow village. At first she didn't know what I was talking about, but after some reminder, she agreed. After the funeral, I took the little snow village out of its box. I found the freckled boy and half-smiled at him, weighing his piece back and forth in my hands. My eyes did a quick  once over of my room until I found a little place on my shelf that he would fit. I jumped to my knees, holding him tightly in my fists, and gently tucked him next to my bed. Then, I hopped onto my bed and laid on my stomach, holding my head in my hands, and observed the boy from my vantage spot. I came to think of him as something of a guardian angel as I grew up. I got accustomed to seeing his face when I woke up and always felt a little strange if I didn’t tell him good-morning in some fashion. He was there for me as I went through middle school. He was there for me as I began high school. He has been there for me through the depression and the fights, he was there for me whenever I got into trouble that I couldn't get out of or shrug off. He was there for me through my first relationship and through my second. He's been there for everything. And his village has been there every Christmas when I pull it out of the box.

Some days I'll glance up from my laptop and notice his smiling face and I can't help but smile to myself before going back to whatever it is I was doing. Sometimes I'll spot him and get distracted in a fantasy world where he's a real human. Sometimes I'm annoyed that he's always smiling – doesn't it get tedious? He never rubbed off on me in that aspect – my lips are tugged down into a permanent frown. My life at home and my life at school are two very different things, leading to a few different sides of me. Sometimes my fuck-all attitude gets me into more trouble than I'd like, but it's better than the alternative – I imagine anyway. But even through my frowns, even through my worst nights of depression, I've never been able to really do anything about it. I've always had my guardian angel there to smile at me, his warm, freckled smile that reassures me to no end. So the fuck what I'm seventeen and I have a weird friend-crush on a stone statue that fits in my palm? So the fuck what. He's lucky. He's always been lucky that he gets to live in his perfect little snow village with his perfect snow village family and perfect snow village friends and scenery and fire and perfect snow and perfect smile and perfect freckles.

The tightness in my chest gets worse in December when I take out the rest of the village. I'll get lost in the snow town, in the bookshop so detailed that it has book titles written on spines less than a millimeter thin behind the glass. (Over the years, I've managed to get my hands on a copy of each of the books in the store.) I get lost in the café, with its menu written in permanent chalk above the cashier. I forget myself in the ice rink, twelve tiny people, detailed like my freckled guardian, dance when I plug them in and turn them on. In December, I find myself thinking of the village when I'm not at home. I'll be at school and I'll look outside and see a snowflake and be taken back to that childlike wonder of seeing the beautiful little handmade village in all its perfection. And when your life is as fucked up as mine, don't you always long for a better one?

It was a Tuesday in December when everything changed. But let me start from the beginning of the downhill battle.

It was a Friday in December when I was invited to hang out with my friends, and having nothing better to do, I accepted. The only problem with that was that my friends are kind of shitty and we end up getting into trouble quite a lot. It was three in the morning and the six of us were dicking around on a playground, smoking pot to alleviate the stress of the previous school week. (That in and of itself is a story – my least favorite teacher had given me detention every day until Christmas break, 20 days of absolute shit.) Connie and Sasha were on the swings, holding hands from neighboring seats and gently gliding back and forth. Armin sat on my lap, gazing up at the stars above. I was sitting on the plastic-metal playground. Eren was with Mikasa, lightly spinning on the merry-go-round. It was cold as _fuck_ but none of us cared enough to complain. There was only one answer for complainers: "you're free to go home." It was cold and we were high and silent, save for the occasional squeak from the merry-go-round.

Everything was fine and we weren't breaking anything or making street art or being generally annoying or otherwise too terribly illegal. However, looking like we did with our piercings and dark clothing, and of course, with our records, we got a paranoid night in the slammer. Eren, me and Connie were in one of the cells while Armin, Mikasa and Sasha were in the other one. Connie was silent, but Eren, oh Eren. He was raving mad and ready to fight. His punches glanced off me like kisses from a butterfly due to how high and slow he was.

Armin was the first one to leave on Saturday morning. Then went Sasha, followed closely by Connie. That left me and Eren and Mikasa. I had no idea what time it was, but due to my stomach and the light filtering in from the small window, it was getting towards the afternoon. Our parents had to 1) show up and 2) pay bail.

Fat chance that was happening to me again.

Eren and Mikasa's family came eventually that day and they left me a lingering look as they left. _See you in court_ , I thought.

It eventually grew dark in my cell, and still no sign of being let out. My mind wandered to all sorts of things at first, but I eventually settled on daydreaming about the snow village. I dreamed of playing in the snow with my freckled angel. I dreamed of what he would be like if he were a real person. I dreamed that he would be just as warm as his smile and that his hugs would be more comforting than my grandmother's recipe for hot cocoa.

Though I might have begged for it not to be my father that showed up, the begging was fruitless. He came, fire in his eyes, with my mother in tow, equally fired. I was still too high for this shit. We left without a word. We got home without a word. I let myself be beaten without a word. I went to my room without a word.

It was Sunday morning and I was dragged to church. I had to go in and listen to people get really worked up over just how much they loved Jesus while I sat in the back of the room with my rainbow beanie, nursing bruises.

My favorite part of the youth group sermon had to be when one of the little skinny bitches stood up with a question about homosexuals, "Like, there's this girl at my school, right. And she like, was holding hands with this other girl, and I'm just really confused because like she kissed her cheek and then like she kissed her back? Like what is going on there?"

For the longest of time I had tried to suppress my inner gay due to this church. Believe it or not, I had been a prize child for my parents at one point or another. But when I went out with a girl and she got really physical I soon realized just how much I prefer dick.

So I was beyond pissed when the youth group pastor replied, "I'm sorry that you had to see that. They have been led down a path known by others of their kind and led by the Devil. I'm afraid that those girls have lost their way from the good Lord. They can't see his light because they're too busy being distracted by the glorification of sin in this day and age." At this point he nodded back to me, "Even Jean's hat is a glorification of that type of sin. I've asked you before to not wear that here, Jean." I just glared at him silently. I hoped that I looked threatening with my bruises and cut lip. I’d like to think that it worked at least a little bit as my pastor turned from me, back to the group and said, "Let us join hands and pray."

Everyone joined hands. The other kids didn’t even try to include me. That was, until my pastor looked back up at me and said, "Jean, why don't you join us?"

"What are you going to pray for?" I asked with daggers in my voice, punctuating each word spoken through clenched teeth.

"For an end to sinning in the youth. I pray to protect the people in this group from the touches of the Devil and his path to Hell," he answered, wary.

I tried to stay calm, "Looks like you're going to need to pray harder."

"Why is that, Jean?" He asked.

I stood up, "Because, when you pray, you aren't helping anyone but yourselves. When you made a conscious decision to be straight, no one ever questioned you. So I'm here today to question you- Mr. Luke, are you _sure_ that you prefer the female form to the male form? Maybe you haven't met the right guy. I only wonder what men could have done to you that makes you hate them so much that you feel the need to reject any amount of love that you might have for them-"

I was stopped by their prayers. "Lord, protect us from this vile being. Protect him from the path of destruction-"

I couldn’t hear any more. I was done, I was so fucking done with these people. I screamed above their prayers, "HAVE A GAY DAY, YOU HOMOPHOBES."

If that didn’t sign my death sentence, I don’t know what did.

Oh, that probably came on Monday. When I got kicked out of school. Apparently I had, "Skipped too many days, failed too many classes, started too many fights."

On Tuesday I locked the door to my room. I put up a rectangle of plywood over my window and screwed it in. To reinforce the door, I covered it with a blanket and stuck a shit ton of stuff in front of it. Eventually the pounding on the door stopped. Eventually they left me alone to bicker between the two of them. Eventually her voice became shrill until it was the only one in the house besides mine and my snow village.

This was it. I'd hit rock bottom. I sat cross legged in front of the freckled boy's village and sobbed. Suddenly I hated that village. I was so jealous of everything that the freckled boy had that I didn't, I was so angry that he could keep on smiling at a time like this, I was so _angry_. I stood and raised a hand to smack the village down, to flatten it, to destroy something. But I couldn't. I used the momentum of that motion to take me to my dresser where I hid my relief. Recently, I broke an ankle and they needed to prescribe to me painkillers. I only took like half the amount that I needed, hid the rest, and requested more. I had two bottles' worth.

I wanted to take all of them, oh god I longed to take all of them. I longed to relieve myself of this torture of everyday life I wanted release. Gripping the bottles, I slid down in front of the village and watched my angel's smile. In a weird way, he calmed me. I took a deep breath and put down the pills before reaching over and removing his figurine from the village. I cradled him in my hands before I pulled him to my chest and promptly fell asleep.

When I woke up I was colder than I had ever been before. I hadn't opened my eyes yet but I could tell that everything around me was bright, white, cold.

I blinked slowly and saw a clear blue sky. Wispy clouds trailed their way across the sky made of ice. It was so calm, so peaceful, so perfect.

Except for the cold. Which was now penetrating. I jumped up after moving my fingers slightly and finding my hands and body deep in snow. I stood up and shivered, brushing snow off of my clothes. I scanned the area, once, not finding anything of interest. I was standing in the middle of a plot of snow and trees, about to die of frostbite and this made about as much sense as-

"Jean?"

There was a familiar tug in my chest, a familiar ache and pull and a familiar sense of longing. I turned around and what I saw was the most wonderful thing that I had ever set my eyes on.

There stood my freckled angel in the same orange-yellow sweatpants, maroon sweater, red and green beanie and red mittens. There stood my freckled angel, in the flesh. His eyes were wide, his mouth was a half-smile – disbelief shone on his face. The tightness in my chest was stronger than it had ever been and I choked on my half-formed words.

"Jean, you must be freezing!" His voice was better than I could have ever imagined it. His voice was soft and sweet and it was the cure-all to my pain. He rushed to me, placing his hands on my shoulders and _oh god his hands had weight, his hands touched me_ he's real _he's real._

I was freezing, but I wasn't so cold anymore. There he stood with his perfectly tan skin and his perfect freckles and his beautiful, warm face. But he wasn't smiling – I needed him to smile, I needed him to flash that toothy grin just once, to be sure that it was really him. He currently looked worried, his mouth turned in a stressed-out frown.

My teeth chattered uncontrollably – I was currently just in a t-shirt, my beanie and a pair of jeans – as I tried to say, "Your name?"

He somehow understood me and he flashed his signature smile, "I'm Marco. Marco Bodt. Now, let's get you inside, yeah? Hot chocolate sound good, dear?" He took off his red coat and gave to me. It was warm and it was perfect and it was _Marco_ it was everything that was good in this world and it was so, so warm. It was like I had been waiting for 17 years to put on this one coat and walk with this one man who presently took to my right side, slung his left arm protectively around me, and held my left hand with his right hand.

We were in the café. We were inside the café and the fire was real. It blazed like something out of a photo, and it was so incredibly warm. Marco didn't leave my side, not for an instant, and he sat with me next to the fireplace.

Then it hit me.

The last thing that I had been doing before I woke up here was sleeping. I looked frantically to Marco and gripped his sweater, trying and failing to not sob. He held me tightly to his chest, "Jean, shh. You're okay now, Jean. You're with us, you're with me. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I'm not going to leave your side."

I looked up at him, he ran a thumb across my cheek in order to get the tears off. I leaned into his every touch and held his palm to my cheek as I breathed, "I'm dreaming."

"You were," he mused quietly. "You aren't anymore."

Then it hit me again.

This time it hit me like a giant  cast iron skillet in the back of the head. I _had_ been dreaming. I had been dreaming for a very long time. My eyes widened and suddenly I remembered everything clearer than the water under the ice rink in wintertime. Marco smiled, not his signature smile, this was his private smile that he smiled for me, then. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, tears budding from his eyes, "You were asleep for a very long time, my love. I missed you so much."

It was a Tuesday in December when everything changed. I had been ice skating with my partner, Marco, in the rink that was a lake in the summer months, in the town that I had grown up in, when I fell. I fell and twisted my ankle, digging my skates into the ice below me. Suddenly, there was nothing but water below me – and nothing but ice above me.

I reached my hands up and threaded them through his soft hair, an action that suddenly was so incredibly familiar. I closed my eyes and felt everything fall back into place. I smiled, the soft, reserved smile that was only for my Marco. "I missed you too, my snow angel."


	5. Is this chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU like a bitch

Struggle – The Boy In The Ice Water One thing that I always loved about Jean was his capacity to ice skate. We would leave school hand in hand and walk down to the town's lake that turned to an ice rink in winter. He would lace up his white skates while I picked a place to read a book or study. I always watched him as he went, and from lacing to falling to getting back up and testing his speed, he wore the same look of determination. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes were downcast and narrowed and his lips were pressed into a thin line. This was his determined face, and it was one of my favorites.

He wore that same determined face when he decided to teach me to skate.

Laying together, wrapped up in my fuzzy blanket, he stroked my hair gently. Suddenly, he queried softly, "Marco, why don't you know how to skate?"

I trailed my fingers down the curve of his side, along his hip bones, "I don't know. I guess I've always been a little scared of it. The ice freaks me out, knowing there's so much water underneath."

There it was. His determined face. I knew I couldn't win when he put on that face. It meant that he would go to the ends of the Earth to get whatever it was that he wanted. That face, oh that face – it was a bother. But it was so endearing that I had already agreed before he even suggested, "Shall I teach you?"

I sighed, rolled my eyes and pretended to think about it so that he would try his best to coerce me. "Come on, Marco," he groaned, "you're probably one of the only people to grow up in this damned village and not know how to ice skate." I pouted. "Maaaaaaaaaaaarco," he whined softly. "Let me teach you, please? It'll be fun – I'll hold your hand and pull you along. All you have to do is just like, stand there." I smiled at him and buried my head into his chest.

"Fine, fine, Jean, let's do it," I sighed. He had hopped out of bed then, pulling on his normal clothes before I could even berate him for leaving my grip. "I didn't mean right now!"

He put his hands on the bed, a small smirk on his face before he kissed me, "Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift, that's why it's called the present."

I quickly launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He collapsed onto the bed, half lying on my chest and belly. He put his elbows down on either side of me and softly smiled. My hands were clasped around his neck and with their force, I pulled him down some until I whispered in his ear, "That's why you should come back to bed and stay warm under the covers with me 'coz it's just a little while until Christmas maybe I'll give you an early gift," I ended up rambling a little, only half recognizing what I was saying (since it was November 29, not even close to December 25.) I blamed it on the time of the morning.

And so, our lessons began. It wasn't until later that Saturday that we were able to go skating. His dad let me borrow his pair of skates because none of Jean's fit me. When we got to the lake, Jean was cautious.

Being late November, the lake had only been frozen for a few days. No one skated on it until December, as a general rule, but Jean was insistent that it was okay. And I trusted him because we had been coming out here for years in late November for him to skate and for me to watch.

He stepped out onto the water with a heavy pole to test the ice. He steadied himself before he jabbed the pole down onto the ice. It didn't crack or shatter or anything, and so, he decided that it was alright.

It hadn't been so difficult to agree to his plan in the morning when we were safe in my bed, but now that the ice was right in front of me, it took some real coercing to get me out there. For one thing, I couldn't swim. I had tried to learn that when I was little, but I always sunk like a brick when tossed into this same lake.

I sat on the bank, my feet on the ice, but the rest of my body on the grass. "I don't know, Jean. I have a bad feeling about this," I said, looking down at the ice.

"Come on, snow angel," he sang, "look, it's fine! The ice is thick enough! Watch!" He then proceeded to skate in circles in the center of the ice. He then came back to me, holding out his hands with his eyes so hopeful and determined. "Come on, snow angel," he used his nickname for me again.

"Fine," I gave him my hands and he pulled me onto the ice. I eventually got accustomed to standing on ice, and by Monday, I was skating just fine without Jean's helping hands. Not to say that I didn't insist on holding hands with him, but still.

Everything was fine until Tuesday.

It started off just fine. I think it was a little bit warmer that day, or maybe the ice had just given up after taking four days of Jean doing his damned jumps and slides and twists. It might have been both.

We were skating hand in hand, lazily going around the lake. He was making me laugh about something – I can't remember now. But I do remember my laughter turning into a harsh scream.

It was part of the joke. He had hurriedly skated away from me before turning around, racing back, jumping up and sliding over to me.

But something was wrong. He jumped and he certainly landed, but, well. From what I saw and heard, he jumped, turned in midair, and landed weird. I had seen him do this same move a thousand times, but here he was, messing it up.

There was a crack like gunfire and Jean let out a strangled yelp. He fell to his shoulder and slid until he was just a foot in front of me. I was frozen, but the ice wasn't. It was cracking underneath of him and it was cracking underneath of me.

"Marco!" He screamed at me, "Get off the fucking ice!" I couldn't move. He gave a sharp glance up to me, his teeth clenched as he cursed under his breath, "Marco didn't you hear me? I said get off the ice!"

"But Jean!" I tried.

"Marco, please, please. Get off of the ice," his voice was strangled.

Suddenly I wasn't on the ice anymore. I was being held by our friend Eren. I screamed at him, "Do something!"

He looked at me like I was crazy, but he took off towards the ice and stepped quickly and lightly on the cracking surface. I could only watch the scene unfold before me. My Jean was pulling himself with his arms away from the cracking ice, but struggling to do so. Every time he moved, more ice cracked. Eren yelled at him to stay still but Jean just told him to get off the ice. Then Jean wasn't there. There was a crack like fireworks and I fell to my knees, screaming for my love. His beanie bubbled up to the surface of the water and I lost it. I lost everything that I had built up over the past three years with Jean. I lost the man that mattered the most to me, he was just gone.

It wasn't over just yet, however. Eren continued to step precariously until the ice gave way beneath him too. He cursed loudly and fell below. His head bobbed up quickly before he dove down.

Five seconds. Eren's head came back up for air.

Ten seconds. I couldn't scream anymore.

Fifteen seconds. Silence.

Twenty seconds. Eren's head came back. I found out that I _could_ scream more.

Twenty five seconds. I was useless.

Thirty seconds. I was still useless.

Thirty five seconds. More ice cracked as I watched weird patterns form beneath the ice.

Forty seconds. I couldn't feel anything.

Forty five seconds. They surfaced. I pulled off my skates, screamed Jean's name and ran to their spot in the grass.

I barely noticed Eren as I tugged at Jean and immediately started CPR.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one, two. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one, two. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one, two. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one, two. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one, two. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one, two._

I heard someone telling me to let go. I felt someone tug at my shoulder.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one, two. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one, two. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._

His lips were blue and ice cold. His eyes were wide open and the lashes were beginning to form ice crystals. His hair was clumping up with ice. And his lips were so, so cold. My ice king that I had once shared my warmest memories with was now the coldest thing that I had ever touched.

_Breathe, one, two. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe one-_

Water. His body convulsed, his chest rose and he coughed up water. "Jean," I sobbed, pulling my partner into my arms. I held onto one of his hands and he gently squeezed. I looked down and saw his face. His face was still blue, but be was becoming more of a purple. He gave a light smile and I could hear him whisper, "Freckled angel."

Again, someone was pulling on me. Someone was pulling on Jean. There were a lot of noises around us, but I couldn't let him go. That was until I felt a sharp pain in my side and my limbs go weak.

I woke up feeling as though my body was made of lead. I looked around, unable to figure out what happened until I saw Eren and Armin in the corner of the room. I bolted out of my hospital bed.

I knew that they were following behind me as I ran to the nearest desk and demanded to know Jean's room number. My friends caught up to me as the woman searched his name.

"Marco!" I heard both of them say.

I turned to them, and almost collapsed into their arms.

They carried me back to my room. Turns out I really didn't have that much energy. When we got back, I fell onto the bed. Curling into a ball, they began their tale.

Eren told me, "Jean's on life support in another part of the hospital, Marco."

I really didn't want to cry. But then again, I really didn't want my partner to be on life support in another part of the hospital.

"He's in pretty bad shape. Apparently he's slipping in and out," the brunet continued. He never was one for eloquence.

"Marco," Armin began, softer than Eren, "you have to be prepared," he stroked my shoulder before adding quietly, "they don't think that he's going to be okay."

If I wasn't crying before, I was then. In fact, I sobbed into the pillow.

"I, I, I," I tried the whole speaking thing, but it wasn't working for me. "S-see him?"

They both nodded, "Yeah, man. As soon as you're feeling better we'll take you over there."

I sat up and wiped at my face, "I'm fine."

The pair exchanged a glance before Armin took my arm and led me out of my room. Eren followed us and he talked on the way.

"I was on my way for some coffee, because I was out of it at home. That's when I heard the shouting," the brunet informed me. "You wouldn't let go of him, and so the paramedics tranquilized you. That's why you feel so shitty right now. But when I pulled him out, I mean. He was gone. Like, you gotta understand, Marco, he was gone."

I looked to him, a face that had always been hardened with anger now looked almost soft and confused. I didn't know what to say to him, suddenly _thank you_ didn't seem like enough. I stopped walking and looked Eren square in the eye, "Eren. You saved Jean's life. That means so much to me, and I am forever in your debt. Thank you so much."

He gave a half smile and reached out to my shoulder, "Don't worry about it, Marco."

Armin let go of me and I reached over and engulfed Eren in a tight hug. When we pulled away from one another, we kept on walking towards Jean's room. It took a good amount of time, but we finally arrived outside of his door. They paused me from bursting in.

The blond had a hand on my chest, "Wait, Marco. You really just need to be prepared for this. He doesn't look very good to be perfectly blunt. He's all hooked up to things and-"

"Shut up, Armin. I'm okay. I can handle it," I was so tired of everyone getting in the way of my seeing Jean that I was on the brink of violence. I think they sensed that and backed off while I knocked gently before walking in.

He didn't look awful. He was still my lover, my partner, my everything. He was still my Jean. I took a deep breath and walked over to his bed. His feet stuck out from beneath the blanket because of the cast on his right foot. He was indeed hooked up to several monitors and there were tubes in his nose and in his arms and he was paler than he usually was and his lips were still just a shade too purple to be normal, but he was breathing.

"Jean," I breathed out. Taking a quick sweep of the room, I found a chair that could be pulled up next to his bed. I sat next to him and found his hand. His long, bony fingers were still deathly cold, but that just made me hold onto them tighter. "Oh my love," I whispered, tears budding up in my eyes again.

I didn't know what to do. I sat quietly and watched his breathing and stroked his hand with my thumb. I eventually rested my head onto my shoulder – a surprisingly comfortable position. My elbow was on the bed and held me up. I don't know what drove me, but at one point I began to sing one of my favorite sad songs.

"Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind. I'll follow you into the dark. No blinding lights, or tunnels to gates of white, just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark," I sang in a voice barely above a whisper. "If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied, illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs, if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I’ll follow you into the dark."

Suddenly there was a wheeze as Jean countered, "Life is sweet in the belly of the beast, in the belly of the beast. And with your song in my heart, it will never bring us down, it will never bring us down." Tears rolled down my cheeks, tears that he reached up to wipe away. He continued and I quietly joined in, "Lost in the maze of a thousand rainy days, of a thousand rainy days, but when I heard your voice, oh it led me to the end yes it led me to the end." My voice quit out on me and refused to do anything other than constrict when I tried to make sounds. I put my forehead on Jean's shoulder as he continued, half-speaking half-singing half-whispering, "Coz when you sing, I hear a symphony. And I'm swallowed in sound as it echoes through me, I believe, oh how I feel alive. The winter's advancing we'll stay young go dancing."

I pulled my head up as Jean's voice chocked to a stop. He seemed to be in the same predicament as I was. He was moving his mouth, but no words came out. I gently moved a hand up and stroked his forehead while I forced myself to speak. My words were broken as I hushed, "Don't you dare die, Jean Kirschstein."

He smiled at me and squeezed my hand for an instant before he went limp and his eyes fluttered closed.

It's been 21 days and he hasn't opened his eyes since that moment.

There was one moment when the decision had to be made whether or not to keep him on life support. That was on day 10. Armin and Eren and Mikasa and _everyone_ was there for that moment. I held onto Armin as they unplugged him. I was prepared for that to be the end. I was prepared for it to be over, for that moment to be the last. But then it beeped. And it beeped again. A happy, relieved sigh was collectively released and Jean was relocated to a different room with three other coma patients. I visited him twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening.

Things were different at home, at school, at work. Things were harder.

I would wake up on weekends to a cold bed. Our apartment was so incredibly empty without Jean. Our dog, Jezabelle, could tell that something was wrong. She wasn't as energetic as she usually was and she often took her tiny brown paws and placed them on my knees, begging to be picked up. I always complied, cradling her close to my heart. Her auburn hair spiked out in tufts of chocolate-peanut butter around her perk ears as she nuzzled up to my face.

But half of me was gone and I could barely function, in perfect honesty. Jean had always been able to remember things that I couldn't, had always been able to come up with new ways of doing things, had always brought me my lunch when I forgot it, had always come by the bookstore at just the right time to catch me with an awful customer. He would bring in Jezabelle and shove her into my arms while he showed annoying people exactly how to get to the door. But now I could barely remember anything. I tried to make Jean's favorite type of cookie, but I couldn't remember the recipe. And I couldn't remember which book it was in. I fed Jezabelle too much or not enough. I fed myself too much or not enough because I kept forgetting to half things so that I wouldn't have leftovers, or I would forget to eat things entirely. And I still had to go to work every day and college on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. I still had things to do. But oh god, I was struggling.

I went in to the hospital in the afternoon, that was something that I remembered to do. It had been 21 days since I last heard Jean's voice. I let my feet walk for me on my way to his bed. I found myself there before I realized it and I sat down next to my sleeping partner, his breaths even, and that constant beep keeping me sane.

Often I sang to him. Jean had always liked my singing, it's one of the reasons why his nickname for me was _angel_ because apparently I sang like an angel. That's what he always told me. And so today I quietly sang, "The stars lean down to kiss you, and I lie awake and miss you, pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere. 'Coz I'll dose off safe and soundly, but I'll miss your arms around me, I'd send a postcard to you dear, 'coz I wish you were here. I'll watch the night turn light blue, but it’s not the same without you, because it takes two to whisper quietly. The silence isn't so bad, till I look at my hands and feel sad, 'coz the spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly. I'll find repose in new ways, though I haven't slept in two days, 'coz cold nostalgia chills me to the bones. But drenched in vanilla twilight, I sit on the front porch all night, waist deep in thought because when I think of you, I don’t feel so alone. As many times as I blink, I'll think of you tonight."

Today had been particularly difficult and I was extremely exhausted. I sat like I always did, with my fingers intertwined with his and my head leaning on the bed. It took barely any time at all before I was asleep.

My sleep could have lasted between five minutes and 21 days and I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Because when I woke up, Jean was gone. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, calling for nurses, doctors, whoever was available, I called for help. I showed a man the empty bed and then I just bolted from the hospital, looking for Jean.

I went outside the closest exit door and found that it was snowing firstly. The second thing that I found was footsteps in the snow. One foot that was thin and just a little bit smaller than my own, and one foot that was large and rectangular because he still had a damn cast on his foot. I ran. I followed those footsteps until I found him.

He was standing up, freezing his butt off like a dumbass in the snow in a dumbass t-shirt, dumbass jeans, and his dumbass beanie. He must have been sleep walking. He looked so confused, like he didn't recognize anything.

"Jean?" I half- whispered.

He turned on his heel and stared at me, his eyes going wide. There was a pause as he tried to figure things out. He stammered out, "Your name?"

_Don't cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry be strong, Marco be strong, Marco come on, don’t cry, Marco don’t cry_

I smiled the best smile that I could muster before I replied, "Marco. Marco Bodt." I approached him, the most natural thing in the world. "Now let's get you inside, yeah? Hot chocolate sound good, dear?" Of course it did, hot chocolate was his 'favorite thing in the whole goddamn world, second only to' me, in his words. I took off my red sweatshirt and pulled it down over his dumb, cute head and tried to keep from falling apart. I wrapped myself around him so that he could lean on me and pulled him back towards home. It was a struggle to get moving because of the cast - he couldn't quite figure out how to walk and he winced every time that he put weight on it.

The café was the closest and warmest thing that I could get him to and so we walked there. I _politely_ requested that people mind their own goddamn business and if they could please just go the fuck _away_ for a little while, thank you. I set him down in front of the fire and waited for everything to come back to him. He suddenly started sobbing, gripping my shirt and uncontrollably shaking, "Jean, shh. You're okay now, Jean. You're with us, you're with me. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I'm not going to leave your side," I hushed him like I had hushed him since we were kids. It was so familiar, so natural for me to pull him close to my body and tell him how much I loved him. But I had no idea how much he remembered in the moment.

"I'm dreaming," he wailed.

I didn't know what to make of it. He thought that _this_ world was a dream. I simply told him, "You were. You aren't anymore." I just stroked his back and continued, "You were asleep for a very long time, my love. I missed you so much."

He looked up at me, his eyes brimmed with tears as he put his hands on my head. He ran his hands over my ears and up into my hair. He closed his eyes as we fell back into our rhythm, "I missed you too, my snow angel."

It was a struggle for him to readjust at first. He was skittish around everything. He would fall asleep and wake up and not know where he was. He would have nightmares.

But I was there. He always knew who I was, though sometimes the names changed. "Marco" to "freckled angel" to "snow angel" to "the boy in the snow" was how widely they deviated from each other.

He couldn't recognize any of the townspeople at first. He had to relearn all of their names. And for some reason he kept thinking that he was 17. In fact, he was 19. We had first made it official when we were 17, gone on our first date had our first kiss and first made love. That was the only connection that I could think that he had special with being 17.

He didn’t like to talk about the dream world. But as far as I can understand, he had created a whole new life and world in his coma. One with a background and a very detailed and difficult plot. He told me about his coma-family, about how I was a statue and that our town had been a little Christmas village that had belonged to his grandmother. Which made sense, since his grandmother was the one that raised him. Whenever he told me about the coma-life I would just listen and hold onto him so that he knew that I was real, that this place was the real one.

It took him a month of nightmares, of relearning all of his childhood neighbors, of waking up and not knowing where he was, it took a month. Those were the two months of just trying to get to the next day. Those were the two months of struggle. Struggle for me, struggle for him.

But when he finally told me that he loved me, again, after two months of not hearing those words, I knew that the struggle was almost over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this AU guys hope you do too


	6. The sixth one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HIGH SCHOOL AU ITS PRETTY GAY  
> it's also pretty cute? idk Jean's high through the whole thing

High School AU   
  
The thing about being me is that it kind of sucks to be me. I walk down these damned brick hallways feeling like a prisoner with a life sentence. So, kind of shitty, but also freeing. Knowing that you can fuck up as much as you want to and it doesn't matter because you're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't. And I've been damned since I was born to the worst thing of all – a life sentence.

One of my favorite comic book quotes comes from Neil Gaiman's Sandman, "You get what everybody else gets, you get a lifetime." This is read by Death, the small and beautiful. I have a shirt with that quote and people always ask where I got that My Chemical Romance shirt, and, while I do enjoy MCR, the quote is in fact from Sandman. But anyways, the quote is just so full of meaning – no matter how long you live, thirteen, thirty or 103, you get a lifetime. That always bugged me when I was like 12 and going through my emo phase. No matter how many times someone tried to kill themselves, they could never escape their lifetime. And maybe their lifetime was set forth for them a long time ago, written in stone, because no matter what you do, it was always destined to happen in that universe.

In this universe, I wasn't destined to die when I was 15. I found out why when I turned 17.

Okay, so, yes I came to school high a lot. (Especially on Mondays because fuck Mondays.) Yeah, I got caught from time to time. But I was a prisoner with a life sentence and time eventually passed. But that day, when he walked in, it was like, all the pain that the narcotic couldn't get rid of was just gone. He gave me a timid smile (he actually was probably smiling to the entire class, but in that moment it was just me and him) and sat down next to Armin Arlet, occupying the seat directly in front of me. My mind was blank and I was intoxicated by the pain reliever and by his presence and now that he was seated so close to me, I was intoxicated by the soft scent of vanilla. MGMT filled my ears and buzzed in my head, channeling through my sky blue headphones. As Andrew VanWyngarden sang about finding a whistle, I had found an angel. I stared at the back of his neck, his hair was close trimmed in a style similar to mine except neater. His skin was darkly tanned and his neck was covered in freckles of all sizes. He turned his head to the side to nod at Armin and I saw half of his face – also dark tan and covered in freckles. He had just the right amount of freckles, however. It wasn’t like one of those times when their whole face was just painted up like somebody had accidentally flung their paintbrush at them several times. It was like someone had taken a fine point brush and carefully calculated where the best place for a freckle would be for maximum adorableness. I could see it, him as a baby with fluffy white wings being cradled by God holding a thin paintbrush in hand and painting on every detail of his face. He held himself high, like he knew that he was perfect. Addled with toxins, my brain agreed that he was indeed an angel sent down to strike me with all the karma that I deserved.

My teacher had taken notice of me that morning, probably due to the fact that during first period on Mondays I was usually high, dozing off, and buried in music. I was currently only two of those things.

Distracted with making patterns in the freckles on the back of this unnamed angel's neck, I didn't notice as Mr. Pixis walked to me. Ears plugged with music, I didn't hear him say my name.

But when I found his face inches from mine, my left earphone out and in his own mangled ear, he had my full attention. I fell back, startled by his closeness, and landed on the floor with a loud clang as my stool fell with me. And wow, that was way too much movement in way too short of a time. Placing a hand on my head to steady myself, I vaguely heard Pixis say, "If you stared at your paper with the same intensity that you're staring at Marco then maybe you wouldn't be failing this class. Get up, Kirschstein."

That man was dead to me.

Yet, in the moment I was more concerned with the fact that my now named angel was staring at me, eyes wide, cheeks slightly red, curious. Pixis walked to the front of the room with my earbuds and iPod in hand and placed them on his desk, resuming his physics lecture.

I steadied myself in my seat, and actually sat up, trying to pay attention to what he was doing on the board. In the chair next to me sat my friend, Connie Springer. He poked my arm and quirked an eyebrow at me, a silent question of _what the hell?_ Rolling my eyes, I gave him a small glare that told him to _shut the fuck up_ before looking back up to Pixis.

At the end of the period, Mr. Pixis reluctantly let us go, but told me to stay behind. I just remained sitting while the rest of the class filed out. As Marco stood up and gathered his things, he twisted to get his backpack on, catching my eye and giving me a shy smile before he hurried away. I smiled at myself, knowing that I was in a whole new world now that he was in mine.

Once everyone had left, I remained at my desk and just stared defiantly at the bald teacher. Which was a bad decision because he just crossed his arms and stared at me.

I spoke first, "You wanted me to stay behind, what do you want."

"I want to know what is wrong," he stated simply. "And I want to know how to help."

_Okay what the fuck._

"I want to know why you are always sleeping in my class and I want to know why you're always high. I'd like to think that there's a reason beyond you being a spoiled piece of shit," he continued.

_Yeah what the actual fuck._

My mouth was slightly open, and words would not form no matter how much I begged them to. "I- you- I can't," I stammered out some syllables that somehow formed words.

"Kirschstein," he stood up and walked to me, sitting down in Connie's seat. "Let's start off slowly. What is wrong?"

"I- I can't just- it's not- there's not like _one_ thing wrong, Mr. Pixis," I slurred.

"Try me," he said, folding his hands on the slick, cold, black surface.

I shook my head, "I have to go to class-"

"You have 2nd period IS," he stated.

"You have another-"

"I have 2nd period planning," he countered. I gulped. "Look, Jean, you don't have to tell me what's wrong. Just tell me how I can help you pass this year."

"I don't know," I said, my mind foggy.

"What are you on right now?"

"Hy-hydrocodone," I mumble before I realize that I've just told him something factual about myself.

"How do you get it?"

"My friend's dad is a doctor and last month I broke my ankle and I was prescribed to it. I hid most of it and then just asked for more and he gave me another prescription. When that stopped working, my friend just filched prescription paper and started writing them himself," I mumbled quickly.

"Jean," he said and put a hand on my shoulder, "That is extremely illegal." I nod silently. He continues, "But, knowing your record, you don't really care, do you?"

"H-How do you have my record?"

"It's made available to the school and then to teachers. I'm not going to tell anyone about this, but if you keep coming to this class high, then I will tell someone." He sighed, taking his hand away. "But why do you need it?"

I look away from him, "There's a lot of reasons."

"Give me some," he was calm the entire time.

"My parents…" I trail off, not quite sure what to say, "They used to expect a lot out of me. But, I'm not what they think I should be, in a lot of ways." Pixis stayed quiet until I finished, "My, my dad. He. Can get. Angry. So, I take relievers when they come to me. Whatever they might be. 'Nd at school, I just, I just don't understand anything that's going on around me. I get lost in lectures, I mean, I even get lost in the hallways and this school is a fucking rectangle."

"Jean, that's because you're high all the time," my teacher explained to me, trying not to laugh.

I glared at him, "If you're just going to laugh then why are you asking me all this?"

"I'm not laughing at you. Jean, I actually used to be a lot like you," I gave him a look like _yeah sure_ but he continued, "Yea, yea, believe it or not, I had my vices. And I still do." At this point, he reached down underneath of his button down shirt and pulled out a flask. He tucked it away before continuing, "But then. Oh then. Someone came into my life to change me for the better. She made me not be so dependent on the alcohol. And then she brought me around her friends who showed me a different way of living. She truly made my life worth something. She let me lean on her as a crutch for a little while before I could stand on my own two feet. The amazing thing about her is that she decided to stick around even after I got better. To this day," he fingered his wedding band, "I owe that woman my life."

There was a moment's pause as I drunk in his words. He continued, "Now, I'm not saying that you go find yourself a woman, or if my suspicions are correct, a man, what I'm saying is that you are defined by the company you keep. They can either build you up or bring you down. I'm telling you to get out there and find friends who will build you up. It's not too late."

I nod at him and he reaches over, giving me a kind of shoulder-hug. We both stand up and I gather my things, following him back to his desk. He starts to hand me a note to my next class before he pauses, "Do yourself a favor, get some counselling. Because there's things that you aren't telling me. Which is fine, I'm no professional. But get yourself some counselling, even through the school." I nod and he hands me the note.

"Oh, I suppose that I'm not getting my iPod back, though?" I say quietly.

He winks and shakes his head, "Nope. Your parents are going to have to come in to get that one."

I nod once again and shove the note in my pocket before I walk to the door. Looking behind me, I muster up the words, "Thank you," before leaving.

I stared at my feet as I walk down the halls, not really hurrying to my Independent Study period. My head was still in a fog. Though it was once a pleasant bliss of calm, with the serious talk from Pixis, it became a torrential place. My heart was beating quickly and I felt like I was overheating. I took a deep breath and counted my steps, watching the way that the drug made my feet look like they were stepping in concrete tiles of water.

Then I collided with something, and everything moved slowly. I had stepped slowly around a corner, but instead of walking into open air, it felt like I had just slammed into the wall. Which was perfectly reasonable, maybe I turned the corner too soon and stepped into the edge of the wall. Any way it was, I was falling once again, the floor became the ceiling until they both became one thing and it felt like I was in a little box made out of walls.

Until I opened my eyes again and found myself sitting in a corner made out of a locker and a wall. I blinked and saw an angel and my mind went completely blank.

The angel was frantically apologizing and offering me his hand. I stared at it and _jesus fucking christ everything was moving way too fast today._

I must have said that out loud because the angel slumped down onto the floor next to me and we sat in silence for a moment before I got my bearings back. I took deep breaths and then pushed my back against the side of the locker, sliding up. The angel slowly stood up and leaned on the little thing that stood in the center of the double door doorway.

The more I stared at him, the fainter his halo and wings got and the clearer his earthly features became. And then I realized that this man standing before me was the freckled angel that sat in front of me during first period. My eyes went wide and the fog in my head burned away. I groaned, "Aahshit. Sorry, sorry," ran a hand through the back of my hair and faced the ground, "Sorry."

"Oh! No, no, no! I was kind of running, it's no big deal! I think!" He was not the kind of person that one wanted to be high and stand next to. He was way too '!!!!!' and I was way too ',,,,,,,' to be compatible in the moment.

I raised a hand and made the universal shooshing sign. I took a deep breath, "Okay, slow your roll. I'm sorry but I'm just going to state the fact that I am way too high right now to even be at school." _Why the fuck did you say that, jesus fucking christ, you just messed up. He's going to want to avoid you now, ah fuck._ "Goddamn, ignore everything I just said," I groaned.

He raised his hands and calmed himself down, "It's no problem."

 _Maybe he's actually a pretty chill dude?_ "Okay, so, I know your name. You're Marco," I try.

"And you must be Sir. Falls-A-Lot," he joked.

I didn't want to laugh. Oh god, I did not want to laugh. But there I was, laughing. "You just caught me on a bad day," I explained. And it was true- Mondays were awful for me. "No, my name is Jean Kirschstein."

"Alright, Jean, since you don't seem to be in too much of a hurry do you think you could help me?" He queried. Dear god, his voice. I had only been talking to him for like two minutes but I was already in love with everything about him. Especially his voice.

"Yeah, man, what's up?" I ask, knowing that he needs to get to his next class.

"Well I assumed that I would have enough time to use the bathroom and then be able to find my next class. But, here I am, and, well, I dunno where my class is," he explained.

I nod, "Where you going?"

"I have IS this period," he informed me, my hopes soared, "it just said the teacher's name, not the room number. Bush?" My hopes reached Heaven and kissed god in thanks for sending this creature to me.

"That's where I'm going!" I tried not to sound excited. I really did.

I think that he tried to not sound excited, because he perked up in every single way except his voice, "Awesome!" His voice was calm and calculated.

"Come on, freckles," I said and led the way to the fourth floor.

On the way up the stairs I turned to him and asked if he had anything to do during the period. He told me that he didn't exactly have any homework. I smiled, and suggested, "Would you be interested in sitting in the hall with me while I help you out with things like schedule and, you know, like, I don't know. I don't even go here."

He tilted his head, "What?"

I laughed a short, barking laugh, "I mean, I attend this school. But, I think you can already tell that I'm not the kind of person who should be showing the new kid around. It's like anime school and I'm the main character. I don't even go here. Obviously."

It was his turn to laugh. "I see what you're saying. Well, I'd love to have some guidance, and, erm, I know for a fact insofar that I get along with you? So? Yeah?"

We made it to Ms. Bush's room a little over five minutes after class started. I gave her my note from Pixis and then Marco and I explained what happened for the remainder of our time being late to class. We then asked her if it would be alright to go in the hall so that I could help him with some 'first day at a new school' stuff. She looked at me like I was crazy, "Don't you think that there are people better suited for such a task, Jean?" I couldn't argue with her. I was deflated.

Marco saved me, "Oh, Ms. Bush, is it? I’m sorry, but I get kind of nervous around new people, and, well, I've already passed that stage with Jean. I'd prefer to not have to go through that again for a little while, and just get basic school training from him, if you don't mind."

_You freckled angel. What did I do to deserve you._

She looked from me to him and then with a wave of her hand dismissed us, "Stay in the hall outside of my room."

That's how I found myself outside of my IS teacher's room with a freckled angel, laughing, floating, feeling better than I had for years.

I had finished drawing Marco a general map of the school, marking where each of his classes were and taking note of which ones he had with me. We actually shared four out of seven periods together. One class difference was that I was studying art and he was taking choir, and the other one was that he was taking an AP this year, and, well. I wasn't.

We laid with our feet on the wall and our torsos on the floor, a thing that I had showed him how to do. That's when he began to tell me a bit about himself.

"So, tell me about yourself," I suggested to him.

"Only if you tell me about yourself," he replied. I agreed. He began, "Well. I'm Marco Bodt, I'm seventeen turning eighteen in March. I transferred from a high school in Austin, Texas. We moved because of two reasons, one being that my liberal family got tired of living in Texas and two being that we have some relatives that live here in Shinganshima. Hm, what else. My hobbies include singing and reading and generally being gay." He was blushing and staring straight up at the ceiling.

I was grinning from ear to ear as I told my version, "I'm Jean Kirschstein. I'm seventeen turning eighteen in November. I've lived in this town since I was like, 10. I came from an outlying district. My hobbies include sketching and smoking and avoiding my parents and other responsibilities and also being generally gay."

We were silent for a while after that. It was Marco who spoke again, "So, do you like, have a phone?"

"Eyup," I replied.

\------

The next period that we had together was the one that I usually slept through. This was primarily due to whatever drug I was taking, for example, a narcotic pain reliever whose primary function was to put your ass to sleep so that you didn't have to deal with the pain. The class was English.

At this point, it wasn't just God at work. It was every single holy being in existence working their almighty magic to keep this freckled angel close to me. The seat next to me was open. But not any longer.

I struggled to keep myself awake. There was only English class, and then I had art class and then, oh god, then it was lunch. Before we had entered the classroom, I told Marco to poke me if it looked like I was falling asleep. With this, I challenged myself. I set myself a goddamn goal – make Marco believe that you're a person worthy of spending time with. And generally people worthy of spending your time on were people that didn't fall asleep during class. So I forced myself to keep my eyes open and focus on the teacher.

By the end of the period, we had all written a poem and by the end of the period, Marco had only poked me twice.

Then came art, a class that I actually enjoyed. We got a new project that day – grayscale portraits. Take a picture, and copy it in the grayscale. But it had to be a portrait of a face. Once Ms. Petra had given us our project, she allowed the rest of the period to be a free-draw Monday. I thought about what I was going to do for the portrait. I knew who I _wanted_ to do. But I also remembered that we had only known each other for .25 parts of a single day and that drawing him would be weird. That's why, when I looked down at my sketchpad and saw what I had drawn, I just laid my head on the table and allowed myself to sleep.

Nothing could and nothing would wake me up. Not until I felt a familiar, warm presence and a gentle poke. My head snapped up from the table, my eyes still closed. My tongue felt like it was made out of stiff carpet as I barked, "Wah- yes." I squeezed my eyes before blinking them open. I stretched my eyes wide to get a good view of the blurry image in front of me before returning my eyes to their original state of closed. I leaned my head back on the table, "Freckled angel can't you see I'm sleeping."

He snorted and it was the cutest sound I had ever heard. I sat straight up and thought about what I had just said. My eyes wide and my mind fully present, I stared at Marco, "Ah," I began, "I mean, ah."

His eyes were crinkled and his mouth was half-open in a huge, dumb, cute grin, and, and, and he was just so damn perfect. Ms. Petra opened the door to the art room and entered, carrying a box of paintbrushes. She looked over at us and smiled briefly before putting the box down on her desk.

"Who are you?" she never was one to beat around the bush. Her smile was friendly as she watched Marco.

"I'm Marco," his smile was just as friendly, "I'm a transfer student. Today's my first day."

She nodded, "Aah, how do you know Jean?"

"I met him this morning, he helped me get my bearings on with this school," he informed.

Her smile was so damned pleased, "Well, Marco. If you've only known Jean for four hours and already you one, know what his fourth period class is and most importantly, two, can wake him up from one of his infamous naps, I'm all for this friendship! Literally, I could stab this boy with a clay shaper," she picked one off of her desk as proof that she had some on hand, "and he wouldn't wake up."

Marco just smiled at her, but my head was buried in my knees. I had pulled up my legs onto the chair and pressed them against the table, pushing my head between them. This one, hid my blush and two, made the world stop spinning.

Because I was still really high and my head kind of hurt and everything was spinning and I just wanted to sleep for a million years.

Ms. Petra let Marco go and he turned back to me. I couldn't see what he was doing, but I could feel and hear his hand reach down and slide my sketchbook for better viewing. He giggled, "Well," his voice was quiet, "I see where you got this whole, Freckled Angel thing." I then remembered my sketchbook and dropped my knees so fast and reached over and slammed my sketchbook closed so quickly that it was over within a single second. My face was burning red, a shade that only got darker when Marco leaned down until his face was on level with mine. His eyebrows were furrowed and he raised his hand, a small smile gracing his lips. He brushed his fingers along my cheek, pressing his thumb down like he was rubbing something off.

He smirked and leaned back, "You got pencil smudges on your cheek, Jean."

I was dying.

I looked over to the little triangular tented mirrors that Petra had in her classroom for self-portraits and examined myself. My cheeks and ears were red and my hair was sticking up in weird angles and there was a smudge of graphite on my cheek. I quickly used my sleeve to rub at it before glancing back up to Marco and barking, hoping that I sounded annoyed and not delighted and extremely embarrassed that he was here, "Why are you even here?"

Once again, he smirked, seeing right through my ruse. But then his face changed as he explained, "Well. I went to the cafeteria to get lunch, but I don’t have a number, and I also don't have an ID card. So, I couldn't get any food." He sat down on the table, "So, I walked around the school for a while, hoping that I would come across a familiar face, when I remembered that you told me that your fourth period class was art. So I came here and found you sleeping." He smiled, "That brings us up to date."

Petra, either oblivious or acutely aware of my situation, randomly chimed, "Hey, Jean?"

I looked over to her, "Yeah?"

"What are you going to draw for your portrait?"

I shrugged, "I don't know!"

"Draw Marco, he has an excellent face for this kind of work. And the freckles will be a challenge in grayscale. He has just the kind of face that you need for this project," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 _OH, christ, that woman_.

Marco smiled and tapped my notebook, "Since you already got some practice in, huh?"

I buried my face in my hands, "Yeah, yeah, yeah." I stood up, fishing my phone from my pocket. "Marco, smile," I held up my phone to take a picture when suddenly Petra was at my side.

"No! No! No!" She snatched the phone from me with one hand and pulled Marco away from me with the other. She pulled him over to the area of the art room that the photography kids would sometimes use to take pictures of people. She guided him to a stool and put on an orange light on the left side of him.

Oh, holy ghost, if Marco didn't look gorgeous before…

Petra took the picture and then gave me back my phone and turned off the light.

_What is it with all my teachers being so goddamn helpful today?_

It was a fantastic picture of Marco. I looked at it for a moment before looking back up to the man himself. I smiled at him, "Come on, why don't I introduce you to the rest of the gang?" I suggested and quickly grabbed my sketchbook before leading him out into the hallway.

I found my friends in the 'alley' behind the cafeteria. Really, it was just a dark, weird hallway that nobody went in besides band kids who used the hall for practice.

When I looked at my friends, sitting in a loose circle by the window, I suddenly felt like I was going to be sick. They weren't even doing anything, I just, suddenly, remembered everything about them that I hated and I just. I grabbed Marco's arm and pulled him away before I ran into the guy's restroom.

I burst into a stall before throwing up. I had ran ahead of Marco after I initially pulled him out of that hallway, but now he caught up to me. I heard his footsteps come into the bathroom.

_Don't let him see you like this, Kirschstein! What the fuck are you doing, don't let him see you like this!_

I coughed, "Marco, get out."

"I'm not going anywhere," his voice was low, dangerous, calm. I heard the faucet run briefly before the stall opened.

"No, you shouldn't-" I began before I was interrupted by my stomach convulsing and spewing up the great nothingness that I had eaten recently. There was a hand on my back, stroking me gently. A cold, wet paper towel was pushed to my head when I leaned back. He braced my shoulders with his arm, holding me upright. With his free hand, he patted my face down with the cold paper. After a while, he reached forward, barely jostling me, and flushed the toilet. I looked up at him ,"Why are you still here? You don't owe me anything, you can just leave. Walk away from this."

"Walk away from you, yeah? You're not worth anything, yeah? You're too much to handle, yeah?" He just held me tighter, "I am not going to walk away from you until you give me sound cause to do so. You, Jean, are worth something. You are worth my time, and trust me, I've been around people who are a waste of time. I know the difference. And you, Jean Kirschstein, are not too much to handle. Look, I'm handling you right now," he squeezed me again. "I know your next counter argument, and no, I'm not treating you like a charity case, nor do I believe that I'm doing this to get some kind of good karma. Trust me, Jean, if I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be. But I am here, and for whatever reason insofar that has made my wandering feet find you twice, something wants me to stay, something more than just me." He stroked my hair, "I'm still here because you haven't yet given me cause to leave- you have just given me cause after cause to stay."

I was speechless. So, I just said something dumb, like I usually do, "You really are a freckled angel."

He smiled and laughed and just held me tight. I eventually maneuvered to hug him back.

\-------

Since that day, I haven't been high once. I found drugs to be useless when I could just makeout with Marco, or hold his hand, or hug him, or do any other adorable thing with him. It was like, I found the thing that drugs were trying to be. They were trying to cover up this hole in my heart that had been growing there since I was little. They were trying to cover up my depression and my loneliness.

It took three months to stop being dependent on drugs. During those first three months, he came to my house every other weekend to make sure that all of it was gone for good. During those three months, I clung to him like a lifeline. During those three months, I brought my grades up, went to tutoring, started going to a counsellor, and I held onto Marco. Surprisingly, he was okay with it. I never have quite understood what it was that made him stay through the mood swings, the desperation, the bouts of depression and anger, and the egotistical asshole that I often turned into when I wasn't mellow on drugs. He tells me that he stayed because it didn't matter what mood I was in, I was still Jean, and he was still Marco, and we were still intended to be together. He tells me that he could always see through my bullshit, and that no matter how many times I told him to leave me alone, he knew that I was begging him to stay closer than anyone had ever been before. He knew that, no matter what mood I was in, I was still madly in love with him.

So I found out that I had the best kind of sentence – a sentence to life with Marco Bodt.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One time my friend Gaah sang me a song about JeanMarco to the tune of Let It Go. I was really sad that day and she was sick but still, she sang me the JeanMarco song. Because that's love, friendship  
> I think I'll read some fic tonight   
> There's a pairing that I've seen  
> I ship it in isolation  
> Only friendship  
> M and Jean (that doesn’t rhyme)  
> And theyre all laughing like who is this random guy  
> Have some damn respect don’t you know he died  
> You guys this is my OTP   
> Make up some AU's and maybe then you'll see  
> That it's not real he's dead you know  
> Fuck you I know  
> JeanMarco  
> JeanMarco   
> Can't hold it back anymore  
> JeanMarco JeanMarco  
> They had plenty of sex for sure [[I actually have no idea what is being said here it sounds like "candy sex" like idonteven]]  
> I don't care what you're going to say  
> Jean cried at his grave  
> If you ask me that's really pretty gay


End file.
